On the Job
by The Dragon Lover
Summary: Really, Alex doesn't know how she manages to get herself into these situations. Last time she leaves bed for a cross-country job offer. On the plus side, this will be a great story for the guys back home. - Written for WriterVerse challenge on LJ, OC-centric. More information on Alex on my FictionPress account.
1. first day on the job

**Title:** first day on the job  
**Prompt:** Piracy & Hero  
**Bonus?** Yes~  
**Word Count:** 686  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Original/Fandom:** Crossover; Fandom: Avengers (movie!verse), Original: Alex the necromancer series  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Profanity  
**Summary:** Really, Alex doesn't know how she manages to get herself into these situations. Last time she leaves bed for a cross-country job offer. On the plus side, this will be a great story for the guys back home.

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" The man sitting across from me was stone-faced. I was tempted to ask about the eye patch but figured he was the wrong guy to joke around with. Instead I continued with a huff, "I'd better get a doctor's note or a—a waiver for my absence from work, at least." _First day on the job. It never fucking fails._

Without warning, a folder spiraled across the table and smacked into my forearm, causing me to hiss. As I glared daggers at the offending paper, a prickling of my awareness reminded me of the daemon I had waiting in the wings. Nesrasuas wasn't happy with my blood being spilt—oh, right, the paper cut. He could be a drama queen sometimes.

"This file," the mysterious man began, "holds stills from video footage of you standing in what looks to be some sort of ritual circle, bleeding all over the goddamn place. Now, tell me this doesn't look suspicious."

Without missing a beat, I parroted back to him in perfect monotone, "This doesn't look suspicious." But really, he was asking for it, abducting me in broad daylight for some bizarre interrogation and making me late for work.

Opening the manila folder, I flipped through several enlarged photographs of my attempts to summon various creatures and wards around the city. I wasn't going to be taking any chances with my new apartment, and I'd had homework to do before I walked into my new job. Apparently, the paranormal was deemed normal around here—and sitting at this table in the middle of a pristine, almost ruthlessly clinical room I could very well see it. Too bad I wasn't the only one looking out for the odd shit in town.

"You are Alexandrea Window," he went on, reading off of a packet I hadn't noticed him pick up, "age twenty-five, born in Peaceton, North Carolina. You've been trained by an underground academy in various forms of magic, graduating with a specialty in—" Here, he looked up from the papers to pin me to my chair with his good eye. "—"necromancy and daemonmancy." " He threw the papers onto the table. "Now can you see why I'm a little hesitant to let you walk out of here with just a slap on the wrist?"

I was still trying to process the fact that I had a dossier, let alone the fact that _he _had it.

Absentmindedly, I corrected him, "Win_dow._" People constantly pronounced it incorrectly; the last syllable sounded like "ow," or "down."

The man didn't seem fazed by my attitude. He looked like an unflappable kind of guy. If he hadn't shown such contempt for my profession—and had that sinister aura—I might have thought he was daemonic. He moved around the table to stand off to the side, watching me with his dark eyes. "Unfortunately, your employer isn't able to be bought or bargained with; he refuses to fire or transfer you. He's a stubborn SOB—and so I come to you."

_Pretty sure you brought me _to_ you, but I won't nitpick._

"If I really wanted to," he loudly interrupted my inner mocking, "I could have you charged with internet piracy. It's easy enough to do, and it would keep you behind bars for a time until I can figure out what the hell to do with you."

_Says the man dressed up as a pirate Morpheus._ Just who was this guy—CIA?

"_Or,_" I cut in, not liking this train of thought at all, "you could _not_ and say you did, while letting me go to work so I can get paid and then go away, never to be heard from again. Sound good?"

"Like hell it does." His bluntness startled me. "You're under Stark's influence, and that's an accident waiting to happen. So I've got a better idea." Folding his hands behind his back, he casually began explaining this "master plan" of his.

"How would you like to meet a hero, Ms. Window?"

_And here I was, actually trying to get some work done._ It really never failed.

* * *

_Lots of dragon-y love,  
-DL_


	2. no really, why?

**Title:** no really, why?  
**Word Count:** 968  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Original/Fandom:** Crossover; Fandom: Avengers (movie!verse), Original: Alex the necromancer series. **Now dubbed "on the job" series, after its prequel "first day on the job."**  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Profanity, mild violence  
**Summary:** Understandably, her new employer is a bit curious about her occupation.

* * *

Some people ask me why I use the kind of magic I do. Normally with more tact than Mr. Stark, but his question was legitimate if blunt: "So, why do you run around, giving blood to demons and raising the dead?"

I was always a bit of a rebel.

Growing up, I didn't have a particularly bad childhood, but I had always felt judged regardless; my parents criticized everything I did, and peer pressure only made me even more determined to surprise everyone. The fact that I could use magic wasn't a big deal—lots of people in Peaceton could. My hometown was a closed community that either hoarded its mages or cast them out to special alcoves all over the world. Magicks concerning life and the elements were more commonly practiced, and most of the neighborhood kids were content to blindly follow the trend.

But I wanted something different.

Toying with the various fields of magic, I didn't choose my specialty until well into my advanced years of schooling. The funny thing was, it wasn't because people were shunning me—to be honest, I was shunning _them._ People annoy me. Blame my temper on my hair color, but my buttons were pretty easy to push, and I could cook up a mean brooding stare. The books on the darker arts were gathering dust on the shelves, and I figured if I could master these magicks then people would leave me the hell alone.

…If only life were that simple. Despite my best efforts, I still managed to attract some colleagues: Malcolm Heywood and Reginald "Reggie" Laroque, from my graduating class. They never really left me alone, and eventually I figured they weren't ever going to. I was like an interesting beetle two little boys had found, and they couldn't help poking me with a stick every once in a while. Bastards.

I chose necromancy because dead things were taboo even in the mage communities, regardless of the hesitant acceptance the Guilds had declared. Summoning skeletons wasn't so bad, but when you raised a fleshier creature that looked similar to a classmate's ancestor—I had quite a discipline record at my academy. (Malcolm tried to get me out of trouble, and Reggie liked to egg me on. We're a dysfunctional team at the best of times.)

My dabbling in daemonmancy was… quite an accident, actually.

I had only stepped into the field because I wanted to boast _two_ Masteries and needed something equally appalling to summon. Malcolm's bunnies and doves weren't really my thing, so I cracked open one of my instructor's old tomes and studied some pretty dark shit. I didn't quite realize how much trouble I was in until I tried to summon more than just imps and hellfire.

There are several levels of daemons you could pull from the realm of hellfire and chaos, and I of course wanted to summon the best of them. Looking for something really bad-ass, I chose a level four daemon rumored to be more powerful and cruel than anything summoned in the last hundred or so years. History records showed he had reveled in civil wars of desperate peoples, slain hundreds of Crusaders throughout the Late Middle Ages, and spread enough progeny to terrorize the globe.

Nesrasuas the Faithless.

He was to be my first example of just how royally I could fuck myself over with the dark arts. Quick thinking on my part was all that kept him from ripping my throat out. Long story short, I trapped the daemon on the mortal plane and tied him to my existence—at least until I could find a way to undo it. This landed me with a dangerous companion who hated all humans and, worst of all, ate all of my food without helping with the rent. What an asshole.

Said asshole wasn't all too fond of my new employer, which he demonstrated by materializing with a menacing snarl soon after Mr. Stark's question. To his credit, the man didn't look too surprised; he merely gave a smarmy grin before jerking a thumb at him. "Is that one of your pets?"

Worst thing to say to a daemon's face, ever. I immediately held out my arm and channeled as much willpower into my voice as I commanded, "_No._" The runes Nesrasuas was bound with thankfully did their jobs and kept him in place, although a low rumble permeated the air like summer thunder. Inhaling deeply to try to regain my calm, I looked the older man in the eye. "Mr. Stark, this is Nes. I'd recommend not pissing him off."

I don't know why his grin stretched at that remark. I was pretty sure I sounded dead serious.

"Sorry, sweetheart, it's my specialty." Turning on his heel, Mr. Stark started down the hallway, waving lazily for me to follow him. "I have some neat stuff for you to look at. Nessie can come along."

I repeated my command just as the daemon went to strike. "_Mistress,_" he almost pleaded, eyes boring into the back of the billionaire's head. He grunted when I shook my head, and then he scoffed. "I suppose I should thank you for not giving him my full name."

"What are friends for?" Sarcasm was my native tongue. Gripping his arm to keep him at my side—although he could cross the room before I even felt him move, so it was more for my benefit that I did so—I trailed after my new employer. Belatedly, I realized I had never really explained why I chose my fields of expertise to him. I had just fallen into memories.

_Oh, well._ I mentally shook the thoughts from my head, reasoning, _It's not really important. I'm sure he'll get me drunk enough to tell him later, anyway._

* * *

_Lots of dragon-y love,  
-DL_


	3. coffee run

**Challenge #08** **Title:** coffee run  
**Word Count:** 479  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings (if any):** Implied Alex/Nesrasuas, given circumstances  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):** Disturbing daemonic behavior, profanity  
**Summary:** Alex really isn't a morning person, and the employee lounge's coffeemaker is about to find that out the hard way.

* * *

I glared at the coffee machine as it gurgled and croaked. Of all of the high-tech gadgets created by Mr. Stark, owner of Stark Enterprises, I hated this one the most. Despite its supposed superiority, it never gave me anything that _tasted_ like coffee. It was more like sludge in a cup.

I couldn't live like this.

"Nes!" Scowling when he didn't appear immediately, I pricked my thumb with my teeth and smeared it on the counter as extra incentive. "_Nes!_"

The displacement of air behind me was the only warning I had before my arm was jerked towards the ceiling. I didn't bother struggling, as I knew exactly who it was. Being very careful to hold my gaze, Nesrasuas put my thumb into his mouth and sucked the blood from the wound. I couldn't jerk away from him, so I tried kneeing him in the groin; it didn't connect, but it got his attention. Releasing me, he asked as he leaned over the counter, "Yes, mistress?"

"I need you—oh, for crying out loud," I grumbled as he drew his tongue across the marble, thoroughly cleaning it like a dog at an ice cube. I took to ignoring him as I really wasn't in the mood this morning. "If I'm going to _survive_ today, I need caffeine. You," I jabbed his shoulder with a finger, "are going to get me coffee that _doesn't_ taste like shit."

Straightening to his full six-foot-four height, the daemon gave me a look that would have made me nervous had it not been seven in the morning. "I am not an errand boy," he hissed, eyes taking on a darker hue. "I slaughtered thousands of mortals before you were even _thought_ of—"

"And you know what?" I took a step forward, craning my neck up to shout into his face, "That's great and all, but I need some fucking coffee, and if _some_one doesn't get me some _right now,_ the eastern coast of this entire fucking _continent_ is going to be _buried_ in bodies when I'm through with it! I—need—_caffeine!_"

A tone reminiscent to an airlines' intercom sounded, and I heard the A.I. named "Jarvis" politely inform me, "Ms. Window, a gentleman is on his way to the nearest coffee shop. Estimated time of arrival is four minutes, thirty-seven seconds."

Feeling a little deflated by the news, I turned and dropped into one of the rolling chairs in the lounge. "Oh," was all I could think to say. I hoped no one important had heard me throw a temper tantrum—namely, Big Boss Man. I leaned my head back against the headrest as Nes took a seat beside me. He had an unnaturally wide grin on his face.

"That was rather… refreshing." His eyes flashed hungrily. "Do feel free to repeat this experience whenever necessary, mistress."

"Don't hold your breath."

* * *

_-Dragon_


	4. Pay

**Title:** Pay  
**Prompt:** Knotted Yellow Ribbon  
**Word Count:** 393  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Demon-related things, mentioned blood  
**Summary:** Nes is _not_ the only daemon Alex knows. In fact, she has an entire book of them; having daemonic connections can sure come in handy.

* * *

I sighed as I placed the final item on the ground before snapping the summoning circle shut with a hiss of magic. The yellow ribbon looked out of place among the drying blood, but it was the best thing I had to offer him. Pricking my finger on a tooth—I figured it wouldn't be prudent to pull out a knife in public—I whispered the daemon's name I required.

A monstrous roar echoed through the alley, and the violent winds furthered mimicked the effect of a hurricane as a large figure appeared in the center of the pentagram. After the winds died down and reality reinstated itself around the daemon, this was revealed to be a man atop a rather out of place camel. _Not the strangest daemon I've summoned._ His face and figure was incredibly effeminate, from his cat-like smile to his luxurious robes of royal blue and white.

_You know you're doing it wrong when a _man_ is prettier than you,_ I groused, even knowing it was pointless to be envious. They always dressed to impress when visiting the mortal realm.

Despite my sour face, I gave him a respectful bow. He inclined his head regally. It couldn't hurt to be polite to one of the daemonic generals.

"As you most likely won't talk normally until I say this," I started, "I command you to speak in your best inside voice." My words were translated by a faint wisp I assumed to be a weaker imp; it hovered about his left ear like a mosquito, and I almost waited for him to swat it away. Unfortunately, he simply conceded before making his own proposition.

"In return for the knowledge I shall grant you, I merely wish for the privilege of a mutual exchange."

"Yeah, sure." I could only hope he wasn't feeling incredibly generous, because I would have to reply in kind. "Whatever you say, Pay." One slender eyebrow arched at my nickname for him, but he didn't protest. It was better than pronouncing his full name loud enough for others to overhear. "I just want to ask you a few questions about one of my client's… competitors. He's been getting fairly greedy."

Bright eyes flashed, and I could have sworn I saw his teeth sharpen as he smiled. His lips were thin and delicate; his fangs, however, were not.

"Please, ask away."

* * *

_-Dragon_


	5. what a stupid question

**Author's Note**: This was written for a "shuffle challenge," where I wrote a drabble for the duration of the song. This was my first.

**Title:** what a stupid question  
**Your Song:** "Holy Ghost" by Savant  
**Word Count:** 392 (unfinished was 171)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):** Mentioned violence  
**Summary:** Really, didn't he even _read_ her credentials? She had training in both daemonmancy _and_ necromancy. Of _course_ she knew how to do an exorcism.

* * *

"Have you ever thought about performing an exorcist?"

I groaned, wiping my hand down my face in the hopes of erasing away the anger. It only made my nose itch. "That's not as simple as it sounds for daemons, Mr. Stark."

"No, but seriously—" And the infuriating man came to lean over my messy desk, grin as smarmy as ever. "You have holy water and crosses and whatever else is in your exorcism kit, right? So why don't you just…" He made a motion as if flicking water from his fingers while making the sound effects one would expect from a space battle.

My eyes focused on the ceiling even as I reminded myself I didn't believe in gods. I then cast my glance over at Nesrasuas standing off to the side (what a convenient paper-shredder) and asked in a mock-casual manner, "Nes, what would happen, do you think?"

His grin was predatory, and he purred with glee, "Well, mistress, I'd imagine that'd give me just the motivation to try killing you again."

"See?" I gestured for Big Boss Man to get off my desk. "Now shoo. I have actual work to do, instead of entertaining your dumb questions."

He only smirked and crossed his arms. "You should be ecstatic to share information with your employer—to prove that hiring you is good for the company."

I kept my gaze on an empty manila folder. "Mr. Stark, everything _you_ need to know about my field is in the dossier that your political shadow threw at me the first time we met. (That eye-patch guy was creepy.) Can I get back to work?"

"Summon a ghost first."

"No."

"A daemon."

"Already have one."

"_Another_ one."

"One isn't enough?"

"Am I not _pleasant _enough for you?" piped up Nes, earning himself a stern glare from me and an arrogant smirk from my boss.

"You can be quite entertaining, Nessie, but I know there's more than just _your_ type."

"_My_ type?"

Whatever else was going to be used as daemon-bait was interrupted by a woman's sharp, authoritative tone. "_Tony!_" The man's spine went straight as a curtain rod, and I shared a triumphant smirk with the daemon as the CEO's personal secretary began scolding him for harassing me.

_Ms. Potts has earned my respect,_ I decided. _"Tony" still has a long way to go._

* * *

_-Dragon_


	6. I quit

**Author's Note**: This was written for a "shuffle challenge," where I had to write a drabble for the duration of a song. This was the second one.

**Title:** I quit  
**Your Song:** "Party Machine" by Savant  
**Word Count:** 267 (unfinished was 261)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):** Profanity  
**Summary:** She was expecting it, but at the same time, not. Not to this extent, at least.

* * *

A pounding headache pulled a groan from my lips as I tumbled out of bed. Just what had I been up to last night?

_Oh, right,_ a sarcastic voice in my head reminded me. _You let your boss—_your boss_—get you drunk off your ass. Great job keeping your job, idiot._

The voice jumped for joy when I stubbed my toe on the door. "_Fuck!_" I said aloud.

"If you insist, mistress," came a daemon's quick remark, which only earned him The Bird this early in the—afternoon. I checked the clock again through bleary eyes. Was it really four p.m.? How could that be? I wasn't _that _much of a lightweight, was I?

"Good _morning,_ sunshine!"

I screamed as the intercom's volume made my headache intensify into a combined train-wreck-plane-crash scenario. "You sonofa_bitch,_" I shouted at the ceiling, only to receive Jarvis' calming tone.

"There is a glass of water and a bottle of pain-relievers waiting for you in the lounge, Ms. Window."

If it had been possible to kiss a computer program full on the lips, I would have happily done so. "You, Jarvis, are the greatest creation from that psychopathic asshole."

"I can still hear you, you know." He didn't sound annoyed so much as amused by my reactions, and I let him see _and _hear The Bird so he didn't feel left out. "Maybe later, sweetheart. I wanted to check in on your progress."

I crushed my eyes behind my palms, trying to remind myself I shouldn't kill my employer. "You mean _before_ or _after_ you got me plastered?"

"Either is fine."

* * *

_-Dragon_


	7. Who's invading my turf?

**Title:** Who's invading my turf?  
**Word Count:** 542  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Profanity, necromancy-related topics  
**Summary:** Alex is very annoyed that she's not the only necromancer in town. She determined to take care of this guy herself, but then there's Mr. Stark…

* * *

I threw the folder onto the table and announced, "There's a necromancer skulking around with dead things."

As always, Mr. Stark responded with the largest, most irritating ladies' man grin on his face. "What makes you say that, sweetheart?" He reminded me of Reggie, but older. And intelligent.

"Other than the fact that it's my _job_ to figure these things out?" I scoffed when he waited expectantly for more. "The number of homeless people around here is suspiciously thin. Morgues have been "vandalized." And I asked."

My boss' eyebrow lifted at that last bit of information. "You "asked"?"

"Dead men love to tell tales," I snapped, annoyed by his attitude about the whole thing. I mean, I love messing with dead things as much as the next necromancer, but kidnapping people off the streets? Taking John Smiths and Jane Does before their families can identify them? There was a protocol to this sort of thing established by my guild: You only summon bodies that have been dead for half a decade or more. There are plenty of those to use; _this_ guy was just being a dick.

He finally picked up the folder, leafing through it as he inquired, "So what did the dead guys say?"

"This asshole isn't experienced, but he's strong." I crossed my arms, different scenarios already running through my mind on how to catch the guy. "He's basically overpowering people to use their bodies for whatever he wants. It's mostly homeless people now, but if he gets cocky, there's no telling who he'll take next."

The folder slipped from his fingers as he stretched with a yawn, arms arching over him with a _crack_ of his back. "So! What can I do to stop this guy?"

After looking at him with my eyebrows furrowed in confusion, I finally laughed as I realized what he meant. _As if I'd let him do _my _job._ "_You _aren't doing anything, Boss Man. Necromancy is _my_ shtick. You just keep up with your CEO-stuff and Broadway superhero act, and _I'll_ take care of the Big Bad Undead Wolf." I couldn't resist taunting at his annoyed expression, "Wouldn't want you to get your Tin Man costume dirty."

"Uh." He made a circular motion around his face. "Iron Man, here? Saving people is sort of _my_ thing."

"Do you know how to find a necromancer?" When he went to answer, I barreled on. "What do you look out for when fighting one? Can you really keep watch on all sides when a hoard of undead is swamping the area, _without_ harming any innocents still alive?"

I started when Nesrasuas (_fuck, didn't know he was there_) spoke up from behind me, "You wouldn't want to leave your "fortress" unguarded from your _other_ little problem. Competitors getting nasty?"

"You two are no fun," was the mock-grumbled reply of Mr. Stark as he swept oh-so-importantly out of the room. "Jarvis! Call Pepper, we need to discuss the importance of security and keeping people out of my private elevator."

It sounded like there was an interesting story behind that, but I had work to do. Turning to the daemon baring his jagged teeth, I asked with a roll of my eyes, "Feel like tagging along, Nes?"

* * *

**Prompt:** Overpowering

* * *

_-Dragon_


End file.
